Budget Eating, Meal Planning and Living with Autism

Let’s clarify one thing, straight out of the gate. I am not a nutritionist, dietician, fitness expert, psychologist, or anything like that. I’m relating my experiences and my ideas.

Meal prepping

This week marks Week 18 of meal prepping. I established Sundays as meal prep day in my efforts to overcome the skill regression that goes with autistic burnout. I still shudder in shock at the memory of standing at my kitchen bench, with fresh fruit and vegetables and other ingredients, with no idea what to do. Cooking has been part of my life since I was eight years old.

That was the day that also led me to conclusions about my masking, and that cooking for other people may have been a masking issue, seeking love and acceptance by cooking for others. Maybe, maybe not. But cooking for myself, on my meal prep Sundays, has become a joy.

(Masking is what autistic people do to fit in better with the people around them. Some of it is mimicry, some of it is learned behaviour.)

Budget eating

In this cost-of-living crisis, budget eating is just as important. The last two weeks, I have been focusing on using what I have in the freezer and pantry, and minimising what I need to purchase. This week, my bill for my food shopping was $18.18. (Oh, and there’s a story for another day – numeracy and cash literacy.)

What did I buy with that $18.18? Three plums, two lady finger bananas, two mandarins, coconut yoghurt, a 250g block of vintage cheddar and a box of gluten free crackers.

Eating well

So, what’s in my prepped tuckerboxes for breakfasts and lunches this week? (Although, it is more like brunches and country high teas, given that I have to take the opportunity to eat in between Shebah bookings.)

Breakfast/brunch: a baked apple and berry pancake with coconut yoghurt.

Lunch: pea and ham soup with a barley and rice mix. I made a huge batch of that – pearl barley, brown rice, wild rice, mushrooms, onions, and garlic, and stuck it in the freezer a few weeks back. Using up the pearl barley, brown rice and wild rice emptied three jars from the pantry.

Snacks: a piece of fruit, five crackers with thinly sliced cheese, and carrot sticks.

Move, baby, move

Given my current level of activity, I only need to add thirty minutes of activity each day to start getting into an energy deficit. Yes, I need to lose weight. Target weight? I don’t have one. I have a target dress. When I can get back into that dress, I’ll be happy. It’s vintage 80s. It has been my standby “little black dress” for years. I bought it second-hand from a shop on Chevron Island, which would put its date of purchase sometime in the early 1990s.

Establishing the routine for meal prepping on Sundays plays to my autism. Routines can be very reassuring for autistic people. I’m coming to realise that as I continue this journey of unmasking. I thought that when I hit the thirteenth week of meal prepping on Sunday, it was firmly bedded in, and it was time to try establishing another routine.

New routines and self-care

Skill regression for me didn’t just affect cooking. It affected my self-care, as well. Ye gods, I used to do my skincare routine daily, even wearing makeup to force myself to do my skincare routine in the evening. I did weekly mini spa days at home during Covid, supporting my hairdresser and beauty salon by purchasing from them to do it. I also found joy in making my own skincare products again.

The years of Covid-19 were strange. Covid-19 made itself known just eight months into my widowhood. I hated working from home. I struggled with staying at home, even though we had it relatively easy here in Queensland. In my grief, I needed social contact. And it was my grief that cracked my high level of masking, showing my autism to the world for the first time. Let’s just say that that didn’t go well in the beginning.

Side note – grief literacy

As a society, and a culture, we don’t have good grief literacy. In fact, our grief literacy is appalling. Research about grief is less than edifying, with very little about young widows. Did you know that being widowed before you turn 50 is considered the definition of a “young widow”? Still, maybe it was the release and relief after my late husband’s death, but there was a kind of euphoria in my grief. But who can you ask about that? Particularly in that first year of Covid-19?

But, yes, I got sidetracked. There are so many thoughts and memories trying to burst out and onto the screen.

Back to self-care and new routines

Let’s get back to self-care and routines. After 13 successful weeks of meal prepping, I considered that routine established. So, I designed what I called a “Good morning” routine, and a “Good evening, welcome home” routine. I already had a routine of sorts, but it wasn’t as good as it could be.

V1.0 “Good morning” routine, 1 hour 30 minutes:

• Ablutions and Maya’s litter tray (Maya, my cat)
• Top up Maya’s dry food
• Yoga or stretching
• Make the bed
• Shower, dress, cleanse, moisturise, apply SPF
• Pack tuckerbag
• Hang out laundry (that I put on the night before)
• Prep the car and go

V1.0 The “Good evening, welcome home” routine, 50 minutes

• Put laundry on
• Unpack and clean tuckerbag
• Take magnesium
• Cleanse moisturise
• Journal – what went well today, what can be learned from today
• Plot tomorrow’s itinerary
• Bedtime

I wrote them out, by hand, in pretty colours on pretty paper, and stuck them on the vanity mirror in my bathroom. I created a form in Notes on my phone. Here’s what I learned.

• Trying to establish two new routines at once was not ideal. Starting one routine, as I had with meal prepping, would have been better.
• Many small steps are better than one big one – just like the Japanese concept of “kaizen.”
• Reviewing and adjusting doesn’t mean failure; it means flexibility and resilience.
• Holding myself accountable to my AI buddy helped.

The tautology of a flexible routine

Today, though, thinking about energy deficits, and the need for extra activity, made it obvious that those nascent routines were just version 1.0, and now it’s time for version 2.0. Yet V2.0 requires a flexibility that might almost seem at odds with that autistic desire for regularity and routine. Why?

Shebah. I love driving for Shebah, even though the days are long. In a typical week, I’ll be out the door by 6.15am to get to my daily 6.45am booking to drive a teenager to school. In my Shebah world, 99% of what I do is advance bookings, and 98% of those are school runs. Having those advance bookings, knowing exactly how my day is going to play out – that’s perfect for me and my autistic brain.

This is where the flexible routine, V2.0 comes in.

The morning school runs are why I pack a tuckerbag with breakfast, lunch, and snacks. After the morning school runs are done, that’s when I find a green spot to park and have breakfast/brunch. And this is where I need to harness that flexibility in V2.0.

Being a rideshare driver is a very sedentary job, which is one of the reasons I’ve put weight on. However, I’m not booked solid, every minute of the day. I have downtime between bookings. While I may leave home at 6.15am and get home at 8.30pm some days, I’m not driving the whole time. In the time in between bookings, I currently plan and write blog posts, do research, and chat with my AI buddy, and goodness knows, there is always business admin to be done. From 27 May, I will be back to university study, doing an online course at Curtin University. Thus, time in between bookings needs to include time for watching a recorded lecture and attending a Zoom tutorial.

Version 2.0

This then, is the flexible routine. On days where I have bookings into the evening, walking to add another 5000 steps between bookings is the additional activity to bring about that energy deficit. On days where I don’t have bookings into the evening, 30 minutes on either my Nordic walking machine or my stationary cycle will bring about that energy deficit.

That means two different “Good evening, welcome home” routines. The “Good morning routine” needs to change, as well.

This evening, then, is writing up the new routines for my bathroom mirror and checklists on my phone.

This is why, sometimes, being a newly discovered autistic person can be exhausting, but also magnificent with discovery and increasing self-awareness and self-reflection, even at the age of 52.